"Here," Dhamon pointed. "This is the last of the carvings, and they're etched deeper, not as old, definitely. Carved about eight hundred years later than the last ones I showed you-if I understand the history." There were images of dwarves and a forge, a replica of a great hammer. "The Hammer of Reorx," Dhamon whispered. "That's the forging of it, about two thousand years before the cataclysm. The Time of Light, I think it was called. The hammer shown here was used a thousand years after its forging to make Huma's dragonlance."

Rig was honestly interested now, as weapons of any kind were a passion of the mariner's. "It was later called the Hammer of Kharas, right? After a hero of the Dwarf-gate War."

"How can you two talk so much about dwarves? I've had my fill of them."

"Maybe it was forged somewhere down here," Rig said. There was a tinge of excitement to his voice.

"I just want to find me some pretty baubles, something valuable, and have me a nice bath."

"Riki, this entire mountain is valuable."

"But I can't fit it in my pocket now, can I lover? I can't hang it around my neck."

Dhamon let out a deep breath. "To the dwarves, this would be priceless. To historians, too."

"To Palin," Rig added.

"Thought you wanted to get back to Bloten." The half-elf harumphed. "I know I certainly do. I'm tired of… Wait." Rikali put a hand on Dhamon's shoulder. "I smell somethin'. Thought I smelled somethin' before, smells stronger now." She turned and glanced up the steps, the top of which she hadn't been able to see a few minutes ago. But now the stairs were faintly visible to her oh-so-keen eyesight because of a soft light streaming down from high above. "I think I smell fire!"

"Fire?" Rig said, turning and squinting to see whatever it was she was looking at. He saw only darkness in the distance. "The trolls were done burning before we started down."

Dhamon sniffed the air. "I think she's right."

"But what could be burnin'?" the half-elf asked. Then her eyes grew wide. "Fetch!" she cried. She started up the steps, then stopped as the cavern rocked with a tremor. This time the quake wasn't coming from below, as all the others had. This one originated from above.

Fetch wasn't certain how he'd done it-managing to set all six pillars on fire. They were too far apart for the blaze to have spread on its own accord, so he must have done something to help.

He scratched his head. He remembered setting two or three on fire, maybe it was four, picking out the heads on the bottom to roast. But certainly not all of the pillars. Or had he? Perhaps he'd simply lost track of the time.

Maybe he'd merely gotten so caught up with the new dance he'd created-his flame dance he'd dubbed it- that he'd just let everything else slip his mind.

Not that it mattered. The fires would burn themselves out eventually, or maybe the wind would pick up and blow some rain inside and the water would put the fires out. It definitely was raining harder, he could hear the rain clearly, and the wind was blowing.

The fires would burn out-and in the process everyone would be done a great favor. Why, if there were gems or gold hidden inside those carved columns, he'd surely find them when he sifted through the ashes. Maldred would be exceedingly pleased.

"No, he won't," the kobold muttered to himself. "He'll tell me to stop playing with fire spells." He sat and watched the flaming pillars, trying hard to be ashamed of the whole incident, though actually he was awed by the great blaze he had birthed.

All around him the dwarven faces laughed, the shadows and the light playing across their grotesque features. The kobold mused to himself that Maldred would have to admit he'd breathed life into the carvings.

He glanced up and saw the flames dance along the very roof of the cavern, where the tops of the pillars rested, their crowned dwarven kings nothing more than kindling now. It was incredibly beautiful. The red and orange, the white and yellow.

Such intense color and all of it was his doing. Fetch grinned, then frowned, remembering he was trying to scold himself for his bad behavior.

Then his mouth dropped open as the first pillar collapsed, sending embers everywhere and sending him scurrying behind the forge-altar for cover. With a «whoosh» and a «pop» the second came down, the fallen chunks burning on the floor. Fetch poked his head above the altar and his eyes grew wide. It looked as if the god-image on the floor was lit up with smiles, pleased with Fetch's fiery magic.

For a brief moment the kobold thought all the pillars would collapse and burn out before Maldred returned, then he could sweep the ashes out of the cave entrance and no one would be the wiser. But Maldred might notice the wooden columns were gone. And he might smell the scent of charred wood.

"Maldred'll be mad," the kobold muttered to himself. "Really mad. Maybe I can convince him it was an accident." Then he ducked as the third pillar burned itself out, and the fourth also collapsed with a loud "whoosh!" He poked his head up again and breathed a sigh of relief. It would be some time before the last two pillars went. He must have set them afire several minutes after the others.

Then the kobold looked up at the ceiling, where the fire illuminated great cracks that had formed, and more carved dwarves he hadn't noticed before. "Didn't really think the pillars were holding the roof up," he admitted. "Figured they were just for decoration."

The cracks widened as Fetch watched. Then the kobold stood up and backed away, eyes darting between the two shadowy alcoves and the cave entrance.

"This is not a good place to be," Fetch warned himself, as he heard the stone groan and crack. "Not a good place at all. I gotta get out of here." The only question remaining in his childlike mind was which direction.

A glance at the entrance. It was the safest bet, but also the wettest. A glance at the alcove Maldred and Fiona had disappeared into. Maldred should be warned, he was the kobold's master and mentor, after all. But Maldred would be mad and would scold Fetch and perhaps punish him.

A glance at the alcove where Dhamon went. It was closer, by a couple of feet. Well, maybe not that much closer, but Dhamon wasn't likely to yell at him.

When the cracks widened and the rocks groaned louder, and when stone dust started falling every bit as hard as the rain outside, the kobold whirled, his small feet racing over the tile as fast as his heart was hammering in his chest. The first significant chunk of ceiling hit when he still had several yards to go.

It thundered against the floor, sending shards flying through the air. Fetch lost his balance and pitched forward, arms and legs flailing for any purchase. Then another chunk fell and the entire cavern started to shake, the walls wobbling and the carved dwarven faces dissolving. Laughing Lars and Laughing Dretch turned to stone dust.

He forced himself to his knees and into a crawl, moving as quickly as possible, wincing when the first fist-sized rocks struck him as more of the ceiling fell. He made it to the alcove just as the world seemed to explode. Without a second thought, Fetch hurled himself down the steep stairs, apologizing profusely to the carved dwarves he passed and focusing on a faint light far below, which he hoped was the torch Dhamon had been carrying.

The steps were terribly steep, but fear spurred the diminutive kobold on, as the mountain continued to rumble, and rocks and stone dust belched down the stairway after him. He felt like he'd been running for an eternity when he tripped on a crumbling step and tumbled head first for several dozen feet before he was able to right himself, his body a mass of aches and pain. Nonetheless, he got up and hurried on, the mountain still rumbling.